


Sadism's Ghost

by shemlentrash (Jess_X)



Series: Control [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: BDSM, Collars, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Hate Sex, Impact Play, M/M, Masochism, Master/Slave, Roleplay, S&M, Sadism, Sexual Roleplay, Sexual Slavery, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:39:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4714631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_X/pseuds/shemlentrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you... propositioning me, mage?" A night of drinking digs up Fenris' rough past, and Anders suggests some metaphorical revenge on the magister - by taking out his rage on him, instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Simile

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS for mentions of past rape, and eventual sadism/masochism. Inspired by an anonymous art request I got on Tumblr.

Hawke’s gleeful cackle rang through the tavern, sending a few bemused and sleepy glances their way. Fenris grinned in spite of himself, shaking his head at his friend. She’d thrown her head back, her laughter possessing her and causing her to wheeze. Her lover patted her on the thigh adoringly, and Fenris smirked at the Dalish elf’s red face.

“Hawke, love, people are staring,” Merrill squeaked.

“Yes,” Isabela piped up. “We all know you’re hilarious, Hawke, but please don’t get us thrown out. I do live here, you know.”

Varric snorted. “Impossible. They love me too much to ever kick me or my friends out of this place. They’re stuck with us.”

“Pff, stuck,” Hawke slurred very suddenly, leaning forward with her elbows on the table and missing Merrill’s mug by inches. “I hope I’m stuck, ‘cause standing up sounds… terrible.” She hiccupped. “Can I be stuck with _you_ , cute elf baby?” She laughed again, but there was a breathiness to her garble which indicated she was trying to flirt, and doing a very poor job of it. Merrill hung her head in her hands, red as a beet. Fenris cringed. It seemed Merrill was an easy target, after all.

He watched as Hawke swayed, and pushed herself into sitting more upright. He knew what was going to happen before it did, and reached out an arm in front of her - just as her head weighed her down and she slumped, limp and unconscious, against his gauntlet.

“Oh dear,” Merrill sighed. When Fenris had lowered her to the table, Merrill stroked the back of Hawke’s head. “Sweet Hawke. Why do you drink so much and lead yourself to this?”

Isabela grinned, flashing her eyes hungrily at Merrill. “Why not? I mean, without Hawke’s drinking, I wonder if she’d ever have agreed to that time the three of us…”

“Her family is dead,” Fenris snapped. The table went silent. He didn’t know why he’d said it, but with his head so light and his body rather numb from the ale, he couldn’t care, and somehow that truth seemed important. “Wouldn’t you drink too much too often under her circumstances?” He spoke in a deep growl, carefully veiling his own pain, which had crept up into his throat like bile he was forced to swallow.

“Well I’ll drink to that negativity,” Isabela said suddenly, lifting her tankard solemnly before downing the rest of its contents.

“Why must you be so crass about it?” Fenris looked over. He had been avoiding acknowledging the abomination’s presence. “You could show a little empathy and respect for the dead, y’know.”

“What you know about empathy, mage, would barely fill a thimble,” he snarled. Anders’ hair fell in shaggy curtains around his ugly sneer, and Fenris had a sudden urge to tug on his stupid ponytail and make him cry out. “Come to think of it, I do wonder whether even your brain would manage to fill - “

Varric stood suddenly with a loud screech of his chair as it skidded on the tavern’s splintery floor. “Alright, if you two are arguing again, then my night is over.” Fenris and Anders fell silent, and looked at him. “Anyone else done for the night? Merrill?” He gave her a gentlemanly half bow, and offered her his hand. She giggled, and took it.

“But… what about Hawke?” she said softly as she stood, one hand in Varric’s and the other still caressing Hawkes mop of hair. Right on cue, the Champion let out a great snore.

The dwarf chuckled. “Take her upstairs. You two can stay with me tonight.”

Merrill was very flushed, and the relief that came over her face was clear. “Oh, thank you, Varric! You are a good friend.”

He shrugged smugly. “I try!”

“Alright,” Isabela said. “If you lot are finished, I might as well sleep, too. It’s been a long while since I’ve done that properly.” She stood, and stretched. Fenris’ eyes strayed unabashedly to the woman’s breasts as they curved with her spine, pressed together, emphasizing her magnificent cleavage. The woman was despicable for the disrespect with which she treated his past, but she was a good friend, and - at the least - she was certainly nothing unpleasant to look at. Merrill’s gaze, too, raked the length of the pirate before she cleared her throat.

“Er, Isabela! Would you mind…? I wouldn't ask if Aveline was here, you know. She's always good at moving heavy things."

Isabela patted the Dalish elf on her flushed cheek. “You don’t even have to ask,” she purred. A moment later, she had lifted Hawke effortlessly from her seat, and slung her over her shoulder with a grin, one hand on her hip while her other hand balanced her limp friend. Hawke drooled a little onto the floor. “Shall we?”

Merrill nodded, fishing through her satchel. Varric stopped her. “I’ve got it, Daisy. You’re all on my tab.”

“Good night, friends,” Merrill chirped sweetly at the two remaining. “And - do try not to drink more when you get home, Fenris? I’d hate for you to have a headache in the morning.”

Fenris scowled. As Merrill left, Varric turned to Anders. “Try not to get murdered on your way back to Darktown, yeah?”

“Always,” the mage said with a chuckle, raising his cup. “G’night, you lot.”

They were alone. Fenris was not going anywhere until he’d finished his drink, that was for certain, but he couldn’t care less about what the abomination did now.

The ale was bitter, and disgusting, but it did the trick. He took a large swig from his tankard, then grimaced.

“Pretty nasty, I know,” said Anders. Fenris glared at him, as though disbelieving that the mage had the nerve to speak in his presence. Anders rolled his eyes. “What, I can’t make polite conversation? You seriously hate me that much that you won’t even talk with me when you’re drunk and we’re alone?”

“I see _you’ve_ clearly got no problem talking with _me_ when you’re drunk,” Fenris grumbled.

Anders made an impatient noise. “So you won’t even pretend to get along with me?”

“Why would I do that? What is the point of pretending? To whom must I prove what great friends we are, hm?”

“Not to prove anything,” Anders snapped. “Just so that any time we spend together isn't always so damn uncomfortable.”

“You are an abomination,” Fenris reminded him, leaning towards him from across the table. “You are filth to me. You’re as bad as the magisters, for having a demon in you and pretending it’s harmless; for acting like you can control it.” He was practically hissing as he spoke, and his eyes were sharp and poisonous.

From this close to him, he noted that the mage had a handsome jaw. He hadn’t spent much time actually observing the man's appearance before, but he was not altogether unpleasant to look at. He had a strong jaw dappled in peach fuzz, and it reminded him of something, but he could not place what.

“As bad as the magisters, am I?” he snapped, shaking his head before gulping down more of his ale. “So I’m powerful and independent, then. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t,” Fenris growled dangerously. “I’m sure some are fine, but I do not speak of those men. I speak of Danarius, and others on his level.”

“I dunno. He didn’t seem all that terrible to me,” said the mage, so casually it made Fenris wish he could snap his neck.

“Fuck you, mage,” he snarled, a low and trembling threat evident in his tone. “You… have no idea…” His throat caught. He stuttered, and fell silent, damning himself for the way his voice betrayed him. “No idea.” He closed his eyes, and hung his head. It was a rare moment that he could get by without feeling the ghost of Danarius’ unwanted touch on his body. Surrounding himself with friends - that always helped. But now? The magister’s fingers on his hips, his teeth in his shoulder, wet lips and tongue on the back of his neck - he could feel it all again. He remembered that sense of duty, bowing at the end of Danarius’ bed, and the punishments his Master sometimes liked to incorporate into his fun. If he wallowed long enough, sometimes he imagined he could still feel the sting of his whip.

Anders was silent for a long while. He downed what was in his tankard, and reached for the pitcher that still rested where Merrill had been sitting. He refilled his cup, then, cautiously, reached across to where Fenris’ clawed gauntlet gripped his near-empty mug, and poured a generous amount for him as well. Fenris looked up. Anders shrugged half-heartedly, looking a little uncomfortable.

After a deep breath, Fenris rasped, “Danarius… is not a man you should ever aspire to be. And his equals were no better, I assure you.”

“It’s not exactly hard to see that you suffered at his hand,” Anders said quietly. “But even the worst people might have admirable qualities, no? Or at least an admirable position.”

Fenris’ eyes flashed. He looked rabid. “It is his _position_ which gave him the power to do the things he did; the power to keep slaves, and to use them however he wished without anyone in Tevinter batting an eye - because that’s just the way things are there. So don’t you talk to me about his... _position_." He spat. "You should _never_ wish to be like him, not in any sense.”

The mage nodded slightly. His mind was clearly working hard behind that blonde head, his cheeks rather pink from the effects of the ale. Fenris wondered whether or not he and the demon were conversing silently. “He really did a number on you, didn’t he?” Anders said finally.

“You can’t even imagine,” the elf rumbled.

Anders shrugged. “I dunno,” he said nonchalantly. "I can imagine a lot. Y'know I was in isolation for a year once, and I got no human contact in that whole time except the occasional bastard templar who wanted to come and torture me. I was starved, beaten, tormented. You’re not the only person who’s suffered injustice at the hands of those in power, y’know.”

The elf sighed, long and slow, leaning back in his chair again and peering down into his newly filled cup. “I feel for your plight,” he said stoically. “I really do. But _don’t_ compare yourself to me. Not ever. You have memories of being a child, at least. Your first memory is not of being bound, suffering unimaginable pain at the hands of magic. You were never the property of a pure sadist for your entire life, were you? You were not publicly humiliated and tortured for amusement at parties. You were not _raped_ nearly every night for years without end, and told that it was an honor to serve in such a way.” The words fell from him in such a furious rush, he could not stop them, and now the facts were there, looming ominously between them like a thick fog. He felt his face burn, completely mortified. He’d never said these things to anyone before, and now... he could not bear to look at the mage. He buried his face in his tankard and drank deep, wishing he would fade into air, and simply vanish.

The lanky man crossed his arms over his chest anxiously. He looked as though he’d been punched in the gut, and feared he might be sick. “I… no,” he said, and his voice cracked. “I’ve never… No.” He drew a shuddering breath, and unfolded his arms again awkwardly, running a hand through his hair.

That’s when it hit him. Fenris nearly spit out his mouthful of ale, but mostly caught himself. He coughed after he’d swallowed, and wiped his chin carefully so as not to irritate his markings.

“What?” Anders asked. He sounded rather small.

Shaking his head and swaying a little in his seat, Fenris grinned. “I was thinking earlier, your appearance…” He gestured vaguely at the mage. “You reminded me of something. I think I figured it out.”

Brow knitted in trepidation, Anders asked, “And?”

“Your hair. The color of straw. Like Danarius before he went grey. And your jaw. Square and strong like his - but at least more decent to look at.”

At this, Anders let out a howl of laughter. After so much tension between them at this table, this seemed to have broken it slightly. His posture relaxed, and he sat back, cackling.

“What’s so amusing, mage?”

Wiping a tear from his eye, and still smiling manically, the man chuckled, “You think I’m decent to look at?” Fenris shrugged carelessly, glaring at him. “Why, Fenris, I had no idea you swung that way!”

“The things you know about me probably fill a smaller pocket in your minuscule brain than even your knowledge on empathy,” Fenris sneered.

“Y’know my first love was a man,” Anders mused, scratching his chin and gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling.

“Oh?” Fenris took a swig. He honestly did not care.

Anders nodded. “Karl,” he said quietly. “You met him.”

Fenris felt something flip in his stomach. “The man made tranquil? The man you killed?”

Anders laughed hollowly. “Who’s lacking empathy now, hm?”

“I’m...  sorry.” For the first time, Fenris meant it. He’d never been in love. He didn’t think he could love, or that he deserved to. To find love must be precious; such a thing should be cherished. To have it, and lose it - even he found that a devastating thought.

Smiling tensely, Anders nodded gratefully. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask if you’ve ever - ?”

Fenris sneered, and rolled his eyes. “Haven’t I just confessed to you a very good reason why I have not?” He tutted loudly. “After escaping my Master, I… There’s been no one.”

“Wait, not even sex?”

The warrior blanched, shocked by the mage’s candor. “I... no, not even that.”

Anders let out a long, low whistle. “ _Maker_ , Fenris, I’m sorry. Even _you_ deserve sex.”

The color rose rapidly in his cheeks. He felt his face burning, all the way up to the roots of his  lyrium-stained hair. “How do you know I even still want sex after... everything?”

“Good point.” But Anders then grinned knowingly. “But look at you blush! You _do_ want sex, don’t you! Admit it!”

He could hear the smugness in the mage’s words, and it enraged him. He leaned across the table with such swiftness that Anders actually flinched, and scooted back slightly. “Shut your filthy mouth, you vile creature. Don’t you _ever_ talk like you know what I want.” His rage was palpable between them, choking them both as he cried, “ _You are not my Master!_ ”

A long silence fell between them, their eyes locked, bound in rage and mutual hatred. But Anders wore something much like sympathy on his, and it disturbed Fenris - yet he could not look away. His breathing was very heavy, and his face extremely red. It was a full minute before he started to breathe normally again. Many heads had turned towards their table in the corner, but neither of them noticed this.

“I know,” Anders whispered. “I’m sorry.” Fenris finally sat back. His clawed hands were trembling. “So somewhere in the back of your mind, you’ve been thinking of me like I am him, haven’t you?”

“No,” Fenris lied.

Anders snorted. “Alright,” he said. “Whatever you say.” He fell quiet again. The air was so thick with anger and discomfort, Fenris thought he could have sliced it with his blade. As the minutes stretched out between them, Fenris reached for the pitcher to finish it off. Once he’d poured the last few drops into his tankard, Anders spoke again.

“Y’know,” he said, “I can’t imagine it’s good for you to spend time around me if I just remind you of him.” Fenris grunted, and drank. “What if you said to me what you’d like to say to him? D’you think that would help?”

“Fuck off,” Fenris snapped.

Anders smirked, and chugged the rest of his own cup. There was no more ale left anymore, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest again, and fixed Fenris with a deliberate stare. “Is that all?”

“I’ve already _killed_ Danarius. Isn’t that enough?”

“So if he was still alive… if he was _at your disposal_ … you wouldn’t want to at least give him a piece of your mind?”

“It’d be a lot more than my mind that I'd give him,” Fenris growled. “I promise you that.”

Anders grinned. It was strangely genuine. Fenris wanted to slap it off his face. “Y’know, Varric and I play this game where we take turns considering ways of murdering Meredith. Or, we used to. I haven’t exactly been feeling all that lighthearted lately. But, I feel like you could use a game like that. It might make you feel better.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re pathetic.”

Shrugging, Anders threw his hands up in surrender. “Well then maybe you’d rather … detail ways you’d want to hurt _me_? Instead of Danarius?”

“As much as I’d love to see you hurt, why in Andraste's name would I do that?”

“It’d keep things within the simile, make it more of a metaphor, help you work stuff out from a distance...  I dunno.”

Fenris huffed, and threw his head back to kill off the last dregs of his ale. He grimaced dramatically as the drink burned his throat, and he made a little noise of disgust as he set the cup back down. He looked pointedly at the abomination, deliberately not responding, and enjoying the way the mage squirmed uncomfortably under his fierce gaze.

“Alright,” Anders said slowly. He leaned forward on his elbows, lacing his fingers together in front of him. Narrowing his eyes, he sighed. Fenris watched him cautiously, not sure what to expect from him. Then - “What if you jump right into the metaphor, and just... hurt me?”

Fenris’ eyebrows raised. “Um  - excuse me?”

“What? You heard what I said!”

“But… what are you talking about?”

“Like a roleplay, I guess. I’ll be the big bad magister, and you’re the rebel slave who’s putting his Master in his place. Y’know.”

“You... realize what that sounds like, do you not, abomination?” Fenris’ eyes fell to Anders’ mouth as the man grinned.

He shrugged. “Well, you’re… _decent to look at_ , after all,” Anders laughed. He winked.

Fenris scowled, feeling his face flush. “Are you… propositioning me, mage?” He glared. “How drunk _are_ you?”

“Quite,” said the mage, “but it’s true. Y’know those markings really are rather pretty…”

“They can also allow me to shove my hand through your chest and tear out your ribcage. How pretty does that sound?”

Swaying, Anders laughed, then hiccupped. “Point taken,” he muttered defensively. “But if you change your mind, I bet I can play a pretty decent magister.”

“I’ll bet,” Fenris spat. “Maker, you must be desperate.”

“I wasn’t even talking about sex, though, at first. So who’s the desperate one here?”

“Stop.” Fenris’ hands were balled into dangerous fists on the table. No matter how true it was that his body had needs, he did not want to give the mage the satisfaction of knowing it.

“You are pretty handsome for an elf, you know.” He smiled, looking a little dazed. “I’ve never really thought about you that way before, but you are pleasant on the eyes.”

He shook his head, looking disgusted. “You are aware I despise you, yes?”

“I know,” said Anders, “And I hate you too. I think you’re an awful, hypocritical prick with an unfortunate past. But,” he added, his voice a low purr as he adopted a sultry air. Fenris’ lips parted in surprise when the mage suddenly leaned towards him. “With how much we hate each other, think how great it’ll be for you to hurt me. How much _fun_ you could have with me.” His eyes trailed the lyrium path along Fenris’ throat. “I’m still not talking about sex, Fenris... but _I could be_. If that’s what you wanted from me.”

“Stop,” Fenris said again, standing suddenly. His heart was racing, and it was messing with his head. His chest ached from the pressure of it. Cringing, he shook his head at the abomination. “Why are you offering this? That’s… sick.”

“Because I think it’d be good for you; because I’m drunk and unashamed to say I don’t mind being hurt; and because I know you think I’m… _decent to look at_.”

Fenris groaned. “Will you never let that go?”

Following suit, Anders stood, still grinning. “Never,” he said delightedly.

“I knew sticking around here tonight was a bad idea,” Fenris grunted.

Laughing manically, Anders followed as Fenris made his way towards the door.

They stepped out into the cool evening air. The world was black around them, and there were very few stars out. “It’s later than I thought it was,” Fenris sighed, glared at the sky as though it had faulted him.

“Oh boy, wandering through Darktown at this hour is sure gonna be fun,” Anders stated dryly.

“Yes,” Fenris sneered. “Have fun with that.” And he started off.

Anders trailed behind him, like an annoying puppy. “Aw, c’mon. You really don’t feel like punishing your Master for everything he’s done?” Fenris felt a twinge of disgust and fury in his chest. “Punish _me_ \- for everything _I’ve_ done?” His voice was tender and suggestive, but suddenly it changed, so that he sounded harsh, and painfully familiar. “You have been such a terribly disloyal slave, you know. I’m ashamed of you, Fenris. I expected better than such a rebellion from you - ”

Fenris stopped dead in his tracks, and Anders walked right into him. This was the last straw. His rage flared, loud like a foghorn reverberating in his skull, making his head pound and his jaw clench. He spun ‘round, and the mage stepped back in surprise. In a gesture so fast Anders could never have escape it, Fenris took a fistful of his ponytail in one sharply gloved hand. The abomination gasped, his neck forcibly curving as Fenris tugged hard at his scalp. “Who… the fuck… do you think you are?” Fenris was so angry, he could not speak without his voice wavering.

Anders’ eyes were bright. They said plainly _I knew you wanted this_ , and it killed Fenris to read that truth in them. "I am... your Master, of course” he teased, grinning smugly from ear to ear.

“Oh, that's it,” Fenris hissed, and slapped him - _hard_.

Anders actually _moaned_.

There was blood in the corner of his mouth where the gauntlet had struck him, and his cheek was red from the strength behind the hit - but that lewd moan still rang in Fenris’ ears, and he could not forget it.

“You’re... _sick_ ,” he spat.

“I know.” Anders did not look ashamed, nor did he look put off. “But don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that. Maybe I'm not the only sick one.”

Fenris shoved him roughly away. After a brief stumble, Anders righted himself, and rubbed his scalp where the elf had held him tight.

They stood there for a long moment. The sounds of Lowtown’s desolate nightlife whispered around them, but they were locked onto each other, contemplating things they’d never considered before tonight. Fenris hated the way his body had reacted to that. Hitting Anders had sent a jolt of excitement through his stomach, settling in his groin. His cock was hungry, and it had been for too long. Was this really a possibility? Was this something he was actually considering?

 _Please_ , his body screamed. _Please, let me hurt him. Give me this satisfaction_.

He sized Anders up for a moment, staring down the length of his body. 

“Follow me,” he said suddenly, in his most deadly serious voice.

Anders’ eyebrows shot upward, and his mouth fell open in a surprised half-smile. “Then…?”

“Do not question me,” Fenris growled dangerously, taking a step towards him. “Obey, or be punished, far more severely than what is already in store for you...” Then he paused, and pursed his lips. “... _Magister_.” Anders’ eyes glinted eagerly in the faint streetlight. “Now, follow me, before I change my fucking mind, you filth.”

And Anders did exactly that.

* * *

 

[HERE!](http://tindeck.com/listen/soyjd) is an audio version of this chapter.


	2. Metaphor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains D/s, S&M, and lots of verbal degradation - among other types, such as spitting. 
> 
> If you're into this stuff, I should warn you: I have made it pretty clearly unhealthy. They lack safewords, have both been drinking, have no boundaries set, and it's literally a parallel to Fenris' past. It's VERY unhealthy, and pretty dangerous, and that's... very like Fenris and Anders, in my personal opinion. My point is: please do not learn from this.

Outside his mansion, Fenris paused, staring at the door with a knot in his gut. Was this a terrible idea? Was he out of his mind for having these urges? He glanced back at Anders, who stood slightly behind him, but did not look him in the eye. Instead, he observed the man’s thin figure, indulging himself in imagining what the mage might look like beneath his stupid robes. His cock ached at the thought, and his heart hammered.

Perhaps he was out of his mind. Perhaps he was truly disturbed. But - and it may have been the drink talking - he did not care anymore. He wanted to take everything from the abomination now; to hurt his body and destroy his will, to enrage the demon inside him and hurt it, too.

Taking a breath, he steeled himself. He wanted this - no, he _needed_ this, now that the opportunity had presented itself, and he would not back down now. He unlocked the front door, and stood aside, staring at the ground rather than at Anders. The mage understood, to Fenris’ great relief, and crossed the threshold ahead of him.

Fenris let the door fall shut, then leaned back on it, locking it deftly behind him. He watched Anders circle the front parlor, looking around as though looking at it all for the first time. The mage’s legs were long, Fenris realized. He’d never noticed it before. He licked his lips at the way Anders’ hips swayed slightly as he paced, and the unbridled desire to bruise them took him by surprise. He wanted to make himself stop, to realize how fucked up it was, but his cock was already swelling, and he did not want to pass this up. What did it matter - _really_ \- if he was sick for wanting this? Anders wanted it, too. Anders _asked_ for it. Surely, with that, he was doing no real harm.

He drifted languidly to the center of the main room, where Anders had stopped to stare at the ceiling. Though he did not look at Fenris, it was clear he knew he was being circled like prey, as his cheeks went pink under Fenris’ deliberate stare. “These are some really high ceilings,” he said hoarsely. “Who even needs ceilings that high? Who even has furniture that tall?”

The elf ignored him, continuing to stalk the man in deliberately threatening circles. His gaze expressed the rage of a man starved for human contact and desperate for vengeance. Anders shuddered visibly, still avoiding Fenris’ direct stare.

“That’s, er…. some really nice… erm…” He searched around the parlor wildly with his eyes, trying to find casual words to fill the silence, but Fenris was pleased to see what a challenge this had become. Anders reminded him fondly of a cornered animal. The look suited him, and made Fenris' insides rumble.

“Shut up,” he said quietly, and Anders fell silent. At last, the mage turned his eyes on him, and his breath seemed to catch at the sight of Fenris’ predatory stare. But a moment later, he straightened his posture, and stood proudly, staring Fenris down almost like a challenge. The warrior stopped circling him, and sneered, his eyebrows raised. “Kneel,” he insisted, very quietly.

Anders blinked defiantly, and drew a deep breath. “I don’t think I like your tone, slave,” he snapped, his lip curling in amusement, knowing exactly how bratty he was being.

Shaking his head gently, Fenris approached him, his hands clasped behind his back and his shoulders squared. His intimidating appearance generally had little effect on Anders, but the mage did glance up and down his figure warily, and that was all Fenris needed to know that he was still in control. He smiled sourly, and it did not reach his eyes. “I believe I asked you to _kneel_ ,” he repeated softly.

The abomination grinned deviously. “And _I_ believe _you_ should be kneeling for _me_ , slave,” he said airily. “And the word is ‘Master,’ you insolent - “

Fenris hit him again. It was not as hard as the last time, but hard enough so that the mage cried out as his head lurched back. He fell silent, cupping his offended cheek. The elf’s rage at Anders’ words was very real, and it wracked him to his core. He shook slightly as he spoke. “You made a real mistake coming after me - _Master_.” He spat the title as though it were poison on his tongue. “But no matter.” He brought his face very close to Anders’, and was delighted to find the man trembling in terror. He wondered if (and almost hoped that) the mage was even wishing he’d not offered this. “For it was, without question, the last mistake that you will ever make.”

“Do you…” Anders’ voice wavered as he tried to sound confident. “...Really think that you have the power to subdue me?” He seemed to be struggling to keep the arousal out of his tone, but he was doing a very poor job of it.

Without another word, Fenris reached up and took a fistful of Anders’ hair again, tugging downward with all his strength so that the mage was forced to follow his trajectory, wincing all the way. “As a matter of fact,” Fenris hissed, “I do.” Anders’ knees hit the floor with a muffled clunk, and he gasped. “Now, I believe I had told you to kneel, did I not?”

“Screw you, slave,” Anders’ snarled. True to the word he’d given at the Hanged Man, he really was playing the role excellently.

Without warning, Fenris spit upon him. Anders’ gasped, his mouth falling open in genuine shock. “You will learn how it feels,” the elf whispered dangerously, “to kneel at another’s feet; to be powerless; to know pain.” He squatted before the mage, and took his face in his hands, gazing at him as though he were an insect. “Yes,” he breathed. “You will learn to fear me.”

Then, hand still twisted into Anders’ blonde locks, he wrenched the mage downward, so that his face was an inch from Fenris’ foot. He was shaking violently, and it made Fenris hard. “Show your reverence, magister. Show me how you love and obey your new Master, as I once did for you.”

“I… d- don’t - ah!”

Fenris jostled his head, causing Anders’ scalp to sting.

“You will obey me,” Fenris growled slowly, and there was something of an animal about his features as he scowled down at the mage. “You will obey, and you will acknowledge who is the Master now, you filthy monster. _Say it._ ”

“I… I will… obey,” Anders choked fearfully.

“Not good enough. I want to hear you call me what I am now. Go on. Who is your Master now?”

“Y- you are my Master now.”

The word jolted his cock immediately, and he had to stop himself from letting out the deep moan lingering at the tip of his tongue. Instead, his mouth fell open in silent delight. “Good boy,” he said breathlessly, remembering with furious relish the way those words sounded on Danarius’ lips. He’d grown to love it once. Now, he wanted the mage to feel as little and helpless as he once had, so pathetic that the words ‘good boy’ would become his only solace. “Now,” he rasped. “Prove your devotion to your new Master.” He tapped his foot. Anders hesitated, and tried to arch his neck up to look at him, but Fenris’ grip was tight. WIth a snarl, he forced the man’s face down, and pressed his mouth to the top of his foot.

He expected protest, but was pleasantly surprised instead. With a groan of pleasure, Anders kissed his foot, more sensually than he could have expected. Fenris closed his eyes, reveling in the power now coursing in his veins. He was high on it, and knew that he would only get higher as the night went on. “Pathetic little shit,” he chuckled, shaking his head. Fenris was light-headed, dazed from this ride already, but he could not stop. “How does it feel to kiss the feet of your former slave, hm? To be degraded as _you_ degraded _me_? How do you fucking like it, magister?” His volume was climbing with his rage, his deep growl becoming dangerously close to a shouted threat.

Anders’ tongue darted out, almost in response. He was lavishing Fenris’ foot, reverent to the point of passion, and it sent a spark of wildfire through the elf. He had never felt so powerful, nor had he ever imagined he’d have someone worship him as he once had done for Danarius. Yet there he was - a willing slave, kissing his foot as though he were truly his Master.

“What… do you say?” Fenris panted. He was breathless.

He did not even need prompting. “Thank you,” Anders sighed, and before Fenris could tell him to, he added, “Master.” It was everything Fenris could have wanted, and his cock reacted strongly, straining painfully now, starved for a taste of this power.

“Oh, you are a good boy, aren’t you?” Fenris rumbled, finally letting go of Anders’ hair with a slight shove. The mage toppled sideways, away from the elf’s feet. “Stand.” He did, obedient but still glaring defiantly. “Now, strip.”

Anders huffed. They glared at each other for several long seconds before Fenris spoke again. “Make no mistake,” he warned. “You are being punished tonight. Do you really want to make things worse for yourself by disobeying me now?”

WIth a grunt of anger, Anders shook his head. After a last pointed glare at Fenris, he looked down at his robes, and began to remove them. The absurd feather pauldrons, the coat, the many hooks and bindings, and the robes beneath - all fell away in turn, pooling on the floor around Anders’ ankles, until he was standing in a sea of feathers and rumpled clothing.

Fenris smirked. The sight of Anders’ mostly-naked body stirred something primal in him, which he swallowed immediately for fear of getting ahead of himself. The mage had broad shoulders, he noted, circling him again as a vulture might do to a piece of meat. He had a vast expanse of back, a landscape beautifully pale and ripe for painting red with marks. He grinned sadistically to himself.

Some distant part of him cringed, and knew he was disturbed for this, but he was in this too deep to care any longer.

He ran his calloused fingers down Anders’ spine, making him shiver. “Very pretty,” he whispered. Then his gaze fell to the curve of the mage’s backside, and his lip curled. The back of Anders’ neck dappled pink as he blushed, and Fenris was elated by it. He walked around to the man’s front, and gestured to his smallclothes, which were bulging significantly. “Those, too,” he instructed coolly.

Anders was bright red in the face, but he obeyed reluctantly. His cock sprung free, and when he straightened up again, Fenris felt his belly pool with warmth at the sight of it. Thick and heavy looking, it jutted proudly, begging effortlessly for Fenris’ touch. “Abuse makes you hard,” he pointed out, laughing slightly.

“Fuck you,” Anders spat, but he was grinning slightly too, looking deeply embarrassed.

“Is that really how you wish to talk to your betters, mage? Especially now that you are naked and out of your element? Do you seriously want to test your odds, and risk a beating so severe it’ll leave you bleeding and broken?” He growled this. Anders bit his lip, and closed his eyes as his cock twitched. Fenris smiled at the sight. “Look at you, getting off on fear.” He drew very close to Anders, until their faces were barely an inch apart, and he could feel the mage’s unsteady warm breath on his mouth. He chuckled softly, and licked his lips. “You are a pathetic magister,” he said. “How one could have ever bowed to you is beyond me. This is your proper place. Vulnerable, and at the disposal of those you would oppress - yes; _this..._ is where you truly belong.” He held Anders’ face in his gloved hand again, pressing his cheeks together so that he looked squashed and stupid. The man glared at him, but did not resist.

Fenris enjoyed the stark difference of his sharp silver gauntlet against Anders' smooth white flesh, but he wanted more direct contact. With a sigh, he let go of Anders and took a step back. The mage stretched his jaw, and the thought flitted across Fenris’ mind before he could stop it: _your jaw will suffer far worse than my grasp this evening, abomination_.

He removed his gauntlets, pacing lazy circles around the trembling naked mage again. They fell to the floor with a clatter, and his chestplate quickly followed. Without wasting any time, his leather pauldrons fell away too. Then, at last, he pulled his undershirt over his head, and tossed it aside. Anders’ eyes scanned his bare chest hungrily. His lips parted slightly. Fenris reveled in the way the mage swallowed thickly, as though intimidated.

“Does my appearance frighten you?” he asked calmly, running a hand through his hair and watching Anders carefully for a response.

He shook his head. “You…” He seemed breathless. Then, his demeanor changed, and he cleared his throat. “You… cannot frighten me,” he spat.

“Oh, no?” Fenris breathed deep, and let his markings flare. He glowed a vibrant blue, and took Anders by the hair again. The mage whimpered - and oh, how delicious that sound was - and pursed his lips as though stopping himself from crying out in fright. “We’ll see,” the elf whispered. He patted Anders on the chest, tapping the center of his ribcage with his fingertips threateningly. He could feel the man’s violent heartbeat screaming beneath the thin layer of bone and tissue, and it thrilled him. He grinned. “On your knees again.”

Anders looked furious, but he sunk to the ground with no protest this time.

“Good,” Fenris praised, and there was a spark in Anders’ eye at this. “Very good. You’re learning who is in charge, I see.” The mage grumbled vaguely, turning his gaze to the floor in shame. “Follow,” said Fenris suddenly. Before Anders had time to respond, Fenris had begun to move. His hand was still embedded in Anders’ hair, twisted around his little ponytail, and the man was dragged along behind him. He rushed beside him as fast as he could on his hands and knees, scrambling to keep up or risk his hair being torn out.

When they reached the foot of the staircase, Fenris was generous. He pulled Anders to his feet, but still did not let go of his scalp. “Walk ahead of me, so that I may keep an eye on you,” he hissed.

Anders went, and Fenris eyed the way his narrow hips and round buttocks moved pleasantly in time with every step he made. He was so pale. Had the man ever even seen the sun? He remembered, then, that Anders had lived a sheltered life mostly in the Circle, and had probably never been forced to bathe outdoors as he had. His ass probably never had seen the light of day. It was pristine, Fenris thought - and he wanted to destroy it.

On the landing Fenris yanked him down to his knees again. Anders sunk naturally, and Fenris chuckled. “A quick study, I see,” he muttered with a smirk. He pulled the mage towards the master bedroom, and finally let go of him. Anders knelt there in the center of the room, panting and trembling.

"What... what are you going to do with me?" He looked up. They locked eyes. Fenris was reminded strongly of being in Anders' place, suddenly - forced to kneel in his Master's bedroom, naked, and forced to remind himself that doing so was an honor few slaves would ever find themselves worthy of. The rage in his belly expanded, swelling like a balloon in the front of his mind. " _Slave,_ " Anders snapped to pull him from his reverie, and Fenris prickled.

"I thought we’ve been over this already, have we not?"

_Smack!_

Anders lurched backwards with a cry, his hand  flying upwards to protect his face which had turned a vibrant shade of pink. Flexing his fingers casually, Fenris finished, "The word... is _Master_. Do get it right, magister, or suffer the consequences."

He grumbled. "Yes... _Master_. "

"Good." Fenris smiled as the title fluttered immediately to his groin. "Better." His cock was desperate, whining against the confines of his breeches. Had anyone told him yesterday that today he would be gearing to fuck an abomination he despised, he’d have laughed. Yet here they were, and he had never seen an ass so flawless and tempting in his life. He steeled himself. Before anything else, he needed to make this man hurt. He needed to see him suffer more. “Elbows on the floor, boy,” he demanded. He could practically see the way Anders’ mind raced at this, hesitating. “ _Do it._ ”

Slowly, Anders placed one forearm flat upon the floor, and the second followed suit. It left his backside stretched into the air, exposed and vulnerable. Fenris knew how that felt. He knew how terrifying it could be, and he didn’t care.

He moved around to stand behind the mage, and watched gleefully as Anders’ breath picked up. “Are you afraid?” he asked gently, reaching out to brush the curve of his subject’s ass with his cool fingertips.

Anders flinched at his soft touch, and gulped.

“Answer me honestly.”

The mage’s pulse raced. His pallid skin was warm to the touch, and textured with goosebumps. “Y- yes,” he breathed. The word was drenched in shame and barely audible, but it was all Fenris needed. He grinned.

“Are you afraid that I am going to fuck you?”

It seemed Anders could not speak anymore. He simply nodded instead, burying his face in his arms. That response sent Fenris reeling. He felt light-headed. “Good,” he whispered, his throat dry and his voice thick with desire. “You should be. But I’m not going to. Not _yet_.”

Anders nodded again, warily.

Fenris removed the satchel from his belt, and placed it aside. He knew from experience how the sound of his belt sliding off would constrict Anders’ heart with foreboding. He knew how frightening it was to be exposed, vulnerable, naked, and waiting for something to happen without any clarity. Watching the way Anders’ body tensed, knowing the kind of terror he might be experiencing, gave Fenris a jolt of arousal. He took his time unfastening his belt, allowing the buckle to clink loudly as he slid the leather from it. He scoffed, self-satisfied. “I _said_ \- I’m not going to fuck you. Not _yet_. So be calm.”

“Al- Alright...” Anders stuttered anxiously.

“I’m sorry - _what_ was that?”

“I said - ” Then  he cleared his throat, sounding tense. “I mean… Y- yes. _Yes_ , Master.”

Fenris’ cock surged with an aching need so strong, he didn’t know how long he could resist, but his desire to hurt Anders outweighed his desire to fuck him. He sucked in a breath, stopping himself from groaning hungrily. “Good,” he choked out. “Very good.”

Running his hand along Anders’ backside, watching the tiny hairs stand on end and his toes curl fearfully, Fenris’ high reached an entirely new peak. Almost painfully eager now, he twisted the leather of his belt around his other hand, maintaining a decent grip on the hard metal parts so that they wouldn’t get in the way - not that his Master would have ever been so generous to him. “I’m going to hurt you now, magister,” he warned softly, wishing Danarius had ever been so kind as to give him notice.

Anders whimpered, and the precious sound fueled his sadistic streak into overdrive. He gritted his teeth in excitement, his heart hammering.

The leather cracked against Anders’ flesh. It echoed beneath the high ceiling, blending into the mage’s cry of pain. It was all beautiful to Fenris. His lip curled lasciviously as he traced the blossoming red shape he’d left on Anders’ perfect skin. The mage’s hips shied away from Fenris’ touch, but the warrior dug his fingers in, and forced him still as he lifted the belt again.

It hit him with such force, Anders was lurched forwards. He braced himself on his forearms, but Fenris knew how rough it was to stay put when one was being whipped - and it thrilled him to see Anders struggle. Stroking the pretty pink mark, Fenris spat upon the mage’s back. The blonde man cringed visibly in horror, and Fenris laughed coldly. "Come now, magister. If I could take it, you certainly can now, can’t you? Or will you admit that you are weaker than your slave ever was?"

Anders shook his head firmly, and Fenris chuckled. The belt befell him again, and Anders yelped like a pitiful dog.

“So you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?” Fenris laughed maniacally. “You...  _beat_ me.” Anders whined into the back of his hand as the leather struck him. “You... _degraded_ me. “ His voice had become a violent hiss, whipping Anders on every emphasized word, his volume rising to be heard over the man’s cries of pain. “Made me _kneel_ , made me _worship_ you - “ There were tears in Anders’ eyes, though they were not spilling yet. But Fenris would make sure they did. “You _spat_ upon me and told me to be grateful for it.” He spit again, and Anders gave a great dry sob of disgust. “You - _used_ me,” and his voice tensed, thick with memories. “LIke a - doll for your _pleasure_. You told me it was an... _honor_ … to have you inside of me. An _honor_.” He was numb to it by now, but it was affecting Anders beautifully. He looked stricken, and was panting violently as the pain continued. “You will _pay_ for what you made of me… and you will feel my pain, _tenfold_.” He dropped the belt, and buried his hands into Anders hair again. Yanking his head back, he pressed his face very close to his ear, and finished with a threatening growl, “ _This I fucking swear to you_.” The mage was shaking and weak. Fenris shoved his head angrily so it met his arms on the floor again, then stood, and backed away to distance himself and observe the mess.

A moment passed in silence, save for Anders’ quiet sniffles and heavy breathing. His ass was flaming, colorful, and there were small raised welts forming there. Then the mage lifted his head slightly to glance back at him. “I’m… sorry, Fenris.”

In one swift gesture, Fenris lifted his leg, and placed his foot on Anders’ head, crushing his cheek into the floor. “Don’t... you... speak,” he jeered furiously, shaking so much that every word required effort. “Don’t you _dare_ … speak… unless fucking spoken to. Do you understand me?”

“Y- yes! M- Master!” he sputtered, and it came out in a wild sob of fright, muffled slightly with his face squashed to the ground. “I... am sorry!”

Fenris laughed, and it was icy. "You certainly will be." He curled his toes into Anders' hair, enjoying how utterly wretched and pitiable the mage looked beneath him. Then he sneered. "Tell me, mage, how is your demon taking to all this?"

Nervously, Anders swallowed. "Justice is... not a demon. And he… does not understand why I volunteered for this... why I enjoy it. But he does feel as I do. He believes that you have a need for it, I mean.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Was it _he_ that urged you to offer this?”

Anders gave a small dry laugh. “Hardly. I am holding him back now, as it is. His instinct is to protect me, y’know.”

“Protect you,” Fenris scoffed. “Nothing can protect you from me. Your ‘harmless’ demon wants justice? Well, _this_ … is justice.” He pressed his foot firmly against Anders’ skull hard one last time, and just as the mage squealed in pain, he let go, leaving the man breathless and frozen in shock.

He moved behind Anders again, clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles were white, nearly matching the shade of his markings. "This… is what you deserve. I should have you begging me to hurt you, as once you did for me." Fenris then adopted a disturbingly simpering tone, mocking his past. " _Oh, please beat me again, Master! I swear I’ll be good, Master! Surely you will feel better if you beat me harder next time, Master!_ Bah!" He shuddered. "I needed approval so badly. It was pathetic, but it was all I had. I... literally did not know any better."

Anders bit his lip, his brow knitted in empathy. His heart ached. Fenris watched him shake his head slightly, apparently speechless, pitying him.

“No matter,” the elf snapped. That silent pity was making him uncomfortable. “That is why you are here, is it not?” He knelt behind Anders, and took him by the neck, yanking him up so that his back was pressed against Fenris’ chest. He slunk one rough palm around the mage’s throat, and squeezed, feeling the skip of his heartbeat. Anders' barest whimper sent a rush through the warrior, and he quirked a brow approvingly. “Now, _you_ submit. Now, you are where you’ve always belonged.” He brought his lips to the shell of Anders’ ear, and grinned, taking the lobe between his teeth. The mage moaned, his hips bucking slightly, and Fenris’ cock stirred at the feel of him struggling in his arms. Anders leaned into him, begging for it. “You are _mine_ now, are you not, magister? Do you understand that now? Will you finally submit to me - without question?”

The desperate nod was good, but it was not enough. He dug his fingernails into Anders’ hip, and tightened his grip on the man’s neck. “I asked you a question, vermin. Politely answer your new Master, won’t you?”

“Yes!” His voice was strained, wrenching its way from beneath Fenris’ tight grip. His face was going rather red.

“Yes, what, magister?”

“Yes - M- _Master_. Yes, I submit. Yes, yes, _yes!_ ”

“Say that you are mine.”

“I am yours, Master. Yours! P- please! _Please!_ ”

The elf bit his lip, trying to stem his arousal. “Tell me… who owns you. I want to hear you say it, magister.”

“You!” Anders shrieked hoarsely. “ _You_ own me, Master. I belong to you, Master. You own me. _All_ of me! Please… please, Master. _Please!_ ”

Satisfied, Fenris let go, and Anders’ gasped unrestrainedly as the air flooded him again. It filled him, and his chest swelled in relief. He then fell forward onto his hands and knees, swaying weakly. Fenris held him steady by the hips until he’d found his balance, then let him go. He stroked the red welts that now marred Anders’ stark white bottom, and grinned viciously. “That’s my good boy, isn’t it?” he whispered huskily, tapping his fingers along the bruising stripes, tracing patterns on them deliberately to tease. Anders whimpered, still wheezing, his flesh twitching automatically at the caress. “ _Very_ good.”

“Please,” Anders begged in the faintest whisper.

Fenris gently stroked the length of his spine. His skin was surprisingly soft and tender. “Please _what_ , mage?”

“Please, Fen- _Master_ … please. I want you to fuck me.”

Fenris’ heart leapt, his stomach churning with surprise. “You... _want_ me to?”

“ _I need it_ ,” Anders growled, sounding ashamed. “I need to…. I need…”

The elf laughed, understanding now. He reached around shamelessly and took Anders’ cock in his hand. “You need release, don’t you?” The vigorous nod was all the response he needed. He smirked, and squeezed, so that the mage bucked and cried out in pain. “You do not deserve release, magister, and you will not have it. Not until I choose to let you have it, and certainly not until I’ve had my own fun.” Anders whimpered quietly, “Am I understood? Hm?” He let go of Anders’ cock, but let his fingers trail around the base of it for a moment before withdrawing completely. The mage let out a bizarre noise like a sob and a moan all at once, then nodded stiffly. Fenris chuckled, “Good boy.”

He stood, and stepped back again, contemplating the sniveling mess in front of him. Then he said, “Stay,” and left the room. Two doors down, there was a chest with old slave garb. He rummaged through it, until finally he found what he’d been looking for - a collar made specifically for a slave. It had not been his - no, his was long gone - but it would do.

When he returned, he found that Anders had not moved an inch. He remained on his hands and knees, flushed and bruised and breathless. Fenris smiled to himself, embracing the spectacular debauched image for a moment. Then, the moment passed, and he approached him. He knelt beside Anders, who looked up at him curiously. He looked sleepy - or perhaps drunk. When his hooded eyes fell on the collar in Fenris’ hands, they grew wide, but shone with an unprecedented light. Fenris looked at it too, his expression deadly serious. “I wore one similar to this for as long as I can remember. I removed it only to bathe,” he muttered. “It was a symbol of pride for the longest time. Until it wasn’t anymore.” His voice became raspy with hatred as the memories flooded him, but he shook his head then. “No matter.” He cleared his throat. “This… is _not_ for me.”

Slipping the collar around Anders’ neck, he drew very close to the mage. As he fastened it, the shaggy head beneath his arm nuzzled slightly against his chest. He didn’t know how to feel, or how to react, so he ignored it, and withdrew. “You look _delicious_ ,” Fenris purred. “ _Every_ magister should be collared this way.”

Anders gulped tensely. “Yes, Master.”

Fenris’ insides shuddered. He would never get sick of the high that brought him. Never. “How does it feel to be collared like your slaves, magister? Tell me.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I deserve it,” he said quietly.

“Good answer,” Fenris laughed smugly. “But tell me honestly, abomination…” He spoke slowly, making it clear he was taking them out of their role-play for a moment. “Do you truly like this? Do you... _like_ to be collared and hurt in this way?”

Anders did not answer for a moment. Then he nodded once in earnest. “This is… just how I like it. It's... how I've always liked it.”

Fenris sneered. “You are a very sick man, you know that?”

“Look who’s talking.”

“That’s ‘Master’ to you, mage,” he teased, sounding self-satisfied as he dragged them back into it.

Anders expression seemed to become dazed again. “Yes, Master,” he replied, bowing his head. Fenris’ stomach turned.

“ _Maker_ , that’s good,” he hissed.

“When I call you Master?”

Fenris nodded, and stroked the top of Anders’ head as though he were a small animal. “Yes,” he admitted on an exhale.

Then, to Fenris’ utter amazement, Anders bowed deeply, touching his forehead to the floor, and even presenting his palms upward in a gesture of pure submission. Just as Fenris thought his groin could not take any more, Anders said again, “I am yours now, Master. Completely yours. Do as you will with me.”

“Fuck,” Fenris swore. “Maker, you are too much.”

“Do I not please you, Master?”

“Stop.” Fenris stood shakily, and began pacing. He had never wanted someone this strongly before, nor had he ever felt so powerful and satisfied. It was a heady experience, and painfully confusing. This could not be the kind of person he was. But if Anders wanted it? If Anders enjoyed it? Then…?

“I’m sorry, Master. Punish me, Master, as only I deserve. Please.”

Fenris sword loudly, clenching his fingernails into his palms and nearly drawing blood.

“Please, Master,” Anders said again, and Fenris snapped.

“That’s it,” Fenris snarled, taking Anders by the ring of his collar, and hoisting him to his feet. “This is too much. I am going to fucking destroy you.” His face was an inch from Anders’, and he was spitting slightly as he growled in his violent haste. “You are going to kneel at the end of the bed there, you are going to bend over it with your stupid arse in the air, and you are going to be patient. You are going to thank me for everything I give you, magister, because every time I touch you or beat you…” He drew a deep breath. “It is an honor. Do I make myself clear?”

Anders swooned, and nodded. “It is, of course, an _honor_ to be beaten by you, Master,” he sighed, his eyes lingering on Fenris’ mouth.

“You’re damn right it is,” he snarled, and shoved Anders back. “Go on, then.”

He knew, without having to wait and watch, that Anders would obey him. He went quickly back into the other room. He knew, again, exactly what he was looking for. He did not need to look hard, for he had retrieved it recently, just to feel it in his hands. It was a long wooden rod - sleek, thin and threatening looking, with a smooth black surface and a subtle grip at one end. It was not a staff, though it looked like a small version of one. Magisters in Tevinter often used these “canes” to beat their slaves. It was common practice - at least among those in Danarius’ inner circle. He had felt the sting of one just like it more times than he could count, and had caned more than his fair share of slaves in training. But holding it now gave him a wild sensation of dominance he’d never felt when he’d wielded it in Tevinter. He loved it.

Back in the master bedroom, Fenris found Anders waiting obediently, exactly as he’d been told to. His back and bottom were ripe for him, stretched along the bed with his legs over the edge, and he felt his heart clench excitedly as he approached. “Good boy,” he said. “That obedience will get you far.” Fenris felt, for the briefest moment, that his voice was not his own. There was a flash of his early days as a slave - Danarius’ voice creeping along the outskirts of his psyche - but he shook his head clear. He could not linger on that. Not now. He had a painful need that was itching to be satiated, and that was all his mind could handle at once.

“Do brace yourself,” Fenris said, sounding deceptively gentle. “For everything you have done.. for everything magisters have done to slaves all over Tevinter… you _will_ be punished.” Standing behind Anders’ curved body, he ran his hand over the faint welts again. “And this... _is_ going to hurt,” he said in his lowest, most dangerous whisper.

“ _Yes,_ Master…” Anders bit out on a moan. “ _Anything_ … Master.”

He positioned the cane over Anders’ upper back. He knew how much this could hurt, but he didn’t care. He whacked the backs of Anders’ shoulders sharply. It was more of a swift tapping motion than anything, but it hurt something fierce. He could still remember its sting.

Anders bit his lip, but made no sound to betray his pain. “ _Thank_ you, M- Master,” he uttered dutifully. It seemed like it was causing him a great struggle.

“Good,” Fenris muttered again, tracing the blooming pink line the mage now sported across the muscles of his back. His skin was raised slightly, and warm to the touch. Lining the instrument up beside the first mark, he paused, taking a deep breath. Then he flicked it up - and thwacked it on Anders shoulders again.

This time, the mage whimpered and wriggled slightly. Fenris took hold of Anders’ wrists, and held them firmly at the base of his spine. The man shook his head a little, his breathing jagged and fearful as he muttered his thanks again. Fenris was thrilled. He hit him again beneath the other two welts, and as his back blossomed with a third stripe, Anders keened in agony. The sound broke in the air as the mage’s back arched, and it touched something in Fenris; it lit a spark of sadism he'd so far barely acknowledged, making his cock yearn and pulse - especially when Anders repeated, “Th- _thank_ you… M- Master…”

The next blow fell to his ass. Shoulder lashings were harsh, and he didn’t want to genuinely injure the abomination, no matter how much he hated him. Yet when Fenris turned his wrath to Anders’ backside, he gave no quarter. The mage shrieked at the very first hit there, and the second had him sobbing dryly, struggling anxiously as his instinct told him to run. But Fenris’ hold on his arms was sturdy, and his vengeance was mighty.

“Cry if you must mage,” he sneered. “Don’t think for a second that I wouldn’t _enjoy_ to see it.” His slimy threats had the mage writhing, and as the cane made contact again, the tears finally began to fall, interfering with his verbal gratitude.

New red welts were forming over the smaller pink ones left by the belt so recently. Fenris kept an eye on the state of his skin as he kept the beating going, carefully making sure he wasn’t drawing blood. At the very least, that perfect pearly white flesh was completely stained with bruises now. He would surely struggle to sit - and perhaps even to walk - by the time the sun rose. The thought pleased Fenris so greatly, it made him feel merciful about Anders’ lack of gratitude.

Anders was sobbing. His face was wet, and his entire body was deeply flushed. “P- please,” he begged. “Please… _please_ , Master…”

“What’s that, magister?” Another whack, eliciting a scream and a fresh wave of tears. “Did you want something from me? You’ll have to be more specific, you poor pitiful mage.”

“Please - ” he cried, and the word fell on another yelp of pain as Fenris struck him again, digging his fingers into the mage’s wrists to reinforce his control. “P- please, Master… stop… please… I c- can’t…”

Fenris let out a dry booming laugh.. “Pathetic,” he spat. “I could take more than that. I'm going to give you one more, hm? Just one more. That’s a good boy. That’s it.” He lined the cane up against the lower part of Anders’ buttocks, and whipped him violently one last time. His scream penetrated the air and resonated soundly around the room. Fenris grinned, his eyes feeling heavy from the high that this dominance gave him. “Good boy,” he breathed, placing a hand on Anders’ burning backside. “Good. _So_ good.”

“Thank you… Master…” he cried. He was heaving, his body shaking, his lip trembling as the tears carved paths along his blushing cheeks, and it was so unbelievably… _hot_ to Fenris.

The elf’s cock was practically in pain, trapped and leaking need beneath his breeches. He couldn’t stand it a second longer. He swore, and pulled them down rapidly, stepping out of them clumsily. “Open your fucking mouth,” he growled.

“Wh - _what_ \- ” Anders was wide-eyed and tear-stricken, his expression slightly fearful.

“You heard me, magister. Don’t play dumb.” He took the mage by the collar, and yanked him off the bed again. Anders whined, but did as he was directed, and shakily opened his mouth once on his knees.

Fenris did not wait or stand on ceremony here. He forced the man’s jaw wide enough to accommodate him, then thrust into his pliant mouth. He groaned, his brow damp and knitted in ecstasy. “Mm.” He held himself there, as deep as the mage's throat would take him. Anders sputtered, tears still streaming freely - and saliva was now inching out of the corner of his lips, dripping down his chin. He could not hold out here for long, but he _needed_ to make Anders’ filthy mouth pay, just as much as the rest of his body. He looked so beautiful this way: tears matting his splotchy cheeks, chin wet with his own drool, mouth stretched wide and stuffed full of his aching cock. His tongue was warm and wet and wonderful. He could have happily remained buried in the mage’s mouth all night long, but that was not what he wanted.

One hand curled into Anders' ponytail, and the other gripping the collar tight, Fenris fucked him - using his supple mouth like it was _built_ for being fucked. He grinned as he thrust into him. “You’re a good toy for this, magister,” he said. “I should consider lending you out. You’ve such a… mmm… such a _nice_ mouth… I bet I could get good coin for it. What do you think?” With every thrust, he brushed Anders’ throat, and the poor man choked, whimpering piteously. Fenris laughed. “Would you like that, magister? Would you like to be your Master’s little whore?”

Anders moaned wantonly at Fenris’ words, his eyes rolling as pleasure wracked him, even as the head of the elf’s cock continued to bruise his throat.

“You are a disgusting piece of meat, aren’t you?” Fenris scoffed. “Completely filthy, the way you love being used by your Master this way. You fucking love it. You’re pathetic, and sick - and you only want more, don’t you?”

He withdrew from Anders’ mouth for a moment so that the man could reply, twisting a hand into his hair and forcing his face upward so that their eyes locked. “Say it,” Fenris breathed. “Say you want more.”

“I…” Anders coughed, and stretched his jaw, wincing. “I want more, Master. Please use me more, Master.”

“Fucking whore,” Fenris snarled in a terrible rumble, like thunder. Unable to resist its luscious depths, he dipped his cock one last time into the mage’s tender mouth, closing his eyes and savoring the texture of his tongue. Then, with a sigh, he pulled out again. He lifted the human by his collar again, and threw him back over the bed with his ass in the air.

He moved to stand behind him. He found himself panting, made worse once he stroked the bruises he’d left on Anders’ backside. “Tell me you have some way of… preparing yourself,” Fenris snapped in a rush, disgust washing through his system at the very idea of it, but he was flat-out desperate now. He wanted to completely dominate this mage, body and mind - and that meant fucking every inch of him. He wanted to break him, and to get off properly for the first time in years. “ _Please_ tell me you know how to…”

Anders was crying quietly, but he nodded. “Thank you,” he rasped as the tears rolled down his face. He lifted a hand, made a fist, then waved his fingers. Tresses of white shimmering magic surrounded his hand for the briefest moment, then he made a fist again, and let his arm fall. “It’s done,” he croaked, and his voice was rich with need while similarly hoarse from crying. Then he reached behind him to touch Fenris’ hip. The elf stared at where he was being touched so gently, a little taken aback by it.

“Fuck me,” the mage begged. “Please.”

All the wind left Fenris at this plea, and he simply nodded, staring at the welts marring that otherwise smooth porcelain skin. He could not take his eyes off the way the bruises bled together like bright splashes on a flesh canvas. It was beautiful. Anders was beautiful, though only ever like this - only ever as his pet magister. It was everything he never knew he wanted, he thought - but now that he had it, he didn’t want it to ever stop. He wanted to destroy and take everything from this man - to own him; to never let him go.

He watched Anders’ torso rising and falling on the mattress with his ragged breaths, and realized that his own heart was thumping painfully, too.

Fenris was so hard, and so sensitive, he didn’t know how long he was going to last. “Please,” Anders begged again, as the elf nudged him with the head of his cock. He leaned backwards, torturing him. “ _Master_.”

That was all he needed. With a gasp, Fenris pushed himself forward, hard. Anders’ spell had worked, and he was gloriously slick for him. He was warm and tight and both men moaned this time as they joined. It took him a moment to adjust to the new experience, but after a few seconds, he fell back into his role. “How do you like it, magister?” he snapped, digging his fist into Anders’ hair again and tugging his head back as he thrust all the way in.

Anders yelped. Bony hips were pressing against his fresh wounds, and his sore neck was bent back uncomfortably while his ass was stuffed full of cock. Fenris could hardly blame him for crying out. In fact, he rather enjoyed the sight of it.

“How do you fucking like it?” Fenris posed the question again in a deep growl, sliding himself most of the way out. When he slammed back in, Anders whimpered, his tear-stained face still streaming. “Hm?”

He loved seeing Anders cry. He wanted to make Anders scream, and beg - for mercy and for his permission to orgasm. He wanted him to suffer. With that in mind, he began his rhythm. He fucked deep, fast, still tugging at the mage’s scalp as he pounded violently into him. “Answer me, slave,” he roared. “Tell me how it fucking feels to have your old slave’s cock inside of you? After all those years of reversed roles, how does it feel to now be one without the choice here? How does my big fucking cock feel in your filthy, unworthy little body?” He moaned, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Hm? _Tell me_.”

“You feel…” he cried breathily, “ _so_ … good… Master. So good.”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Fenris rumbled, spitting on the mage’s back again. He enjoyed the way Anders’ back muscles worked, the way his ass vibrated slightly with every thrust in. And those hipbones… Maker, the sight of that bruised ass and the feeling of stretching it open from the inside sent liquid warmth through every nerve in Fenris' body.

“I…” Anders moaned, low and on edge. “I need… I need to…”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Fenris warned in a fierce growl. “Do not forget, magister - you will not… mmm… have your release… until I have had my own fun.”  He grunted, the pressure around his cock overwhelming him. He felt dizzy with blinding pleasure. He couldn’t imagine why neither of them had had this idea sooner, and he knew that he would be done more quickly than he would have liked. “Ah… Am I understood, you piece of filth?”

“Y- yes, Master!” Anders gasped. His toes were curled, and his eyes squeezed shut in an intense effort not to come, it was clear.

“Good boy,” Fenris hissed. “Obedient for your Master. Just like a good slave. Mm - such a _good_ … _slave_ …” Fenris’ breathing hitched. It was too much. The ecstasy of Anders clenching around his oversensitive desperate cock, and the rush he felt from calling the mage his slave - it was entirely too much. “Fuck… oh, _Maker_ , fuck you.” He spanked Anders - hard, so that the mage thrashed and cried out, shooting tendrils of pleasure through his veins as heat spread from his groin. “Fuck you. You monster, you… ah, fuck you… fuck… _you_...”

The bliss crashed over him like a boiling hot waterfall. Every inch of his skin beaded with sweat and came alive with lyrium as he came, hunched over Anders and still thrusting into him, using him for all he was worth. The mage was holding his breath, his eyes closed, bracing himself as Fenris filled him.

His semen dripped from Anders as he pulled out, and stumbled backwards in a daze. Standing was… near impossible now, he was too drunk on sex to maintain his balance. He sat weakly on the bed beside the mage, who was positively squirming now, his entire body throbbing with tension. “ _Please_ ,” he whispered.

Fenris slapped his face yet again, still out of breath, and still glowing with lyrium. “Did I or did I not just fill you up with come?”

Anders looked bewildered, and had to stretch his jaw again. “Y- yes?”

“Is that not an honor, slave?” Fenris watched the understanding dawn on him, and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Ah. Yes, Master. _Thank you_ , Master.”

“For what?”

“Thank you for fucking me, using me in all my holes, and giving me your come, Master.”

This was more than Fenris had asked for, and it made him truly dizzy. He had to lean back on his palms. With a sleepy smile, he snapped his fingers, and pointed to the ground at his feet. “Kneel,” he demanded lazily, his skin finally dulling to its normal shade.

Anders slipped backwards off the bed immediately, practically boneless. He was panting, and wincing slightly.

Taking Anders' exhausted head in his hands, Fenris did something unexpected. He let him rest his cheek on his tattooed thigh, and began to pet his hair. He hated this abomination, but no matter how deep into this he was getting, he knew how awful it was to be maltreated. It was pure instinct that had him caring, now. He had not intended to. He wondered if in some strange way, he was giving care to a past self who’d never gotten it; rewriting the tragedies of his ghosts.

It didn’t matter. He shook his head, trying to stop thinking so much.

“ _Please_ , Master,” Anders begged again, but very quietly. Fenris looked at him. He was blushing furiously, and looked deeply confused by this sudden gentleness. “I need…”

“I know, slave,” Fenris purred. “I know. You may touch yourself.”

Anders looked so relieved, he might have cried again. His long blonde hair was plastered to his face with sweat, and he brushed it out of his eyes before reaching down and taking his own cock in his hands. Fenris watched him, still petting him. The mage closed his eyes, groaning softly and bucking into his hand. He was leaning on Fenris’ leg, trembling, panting, and squirming. His shoulders were hunched, his neck thrown back, every muscle in his body completely tense.

To both of their surprise, Fenris’ soft caress traveled down to his neck, massaging him there. “Shh,” he cooed encouragingly. “You’re a good boy. Yes. _My_ good boy.”

Anders nodded vigorously, craning his neck to be closer to Fenris, his eyes wide and wanting for more praise and attention.

“That’s it,” Fenris whispered. Their eyes were hooked on one another. This was very intimate; very strange, and he could not look away. Anders seemed so small, so deliciously vulnerable. So pitiful. The mage was begging him silently, screaming for him with his eyes, screaming for - _something_ , and all Fenris wanted to do was crush him into a tiny ball and keep him safe in his satchel, to… _protect him?_ That was absurd. But -

Anders let out a deep throaty wail of pleasure, and Fenris couldn’t stand the distance anymore. He leaned down, an inch from the mage’s face, and fixed his gaze. Anders’ licked his lips, and his tongue brushed Fenris’. The elf's voice was husky and warm as he instructed, “Come for me, slave. _Come_. Just for me.”

The gasp Anders emitted was breathy and high-pitched, and as he exhaled, Fenris closed the small gap between them.

He could feel the vibration of Anders’ moan through the contact at his lips, and held him steady as the orgasm overtook him. He kissed him throughout, and his heart felt strangely heavy at this, but he ignored it. He was too tired; too emotionally worn from this whole experience to judge himself anymore. He took a small moment to breathe, tasting Anders’ cry of ecstasy in his open-mouthed grin. “Good,” he whispered jovially. “ _Good boy_.” A jet of warm semen fell across his shin, and he chuckled, his breath of laughter mingling with Anders’ cry of relief and agonized pleasure. “That’s it.” He stroked the side of Anders’ face as he fell limp, pressing his forehead against the elf’s. “That’s a good boy.”

They breathed heavily against one another for a long moment, tasting each other on the air, but it wasn’t enough. Neither could say who leaned forward first, but Fenris’ tongue was suddenly in the mage’s mouth, and he groaned at the bizarre, unfamiliar contact. He had not been kissed sensually in living memory, and this - this was nothing like what they’d just done. This was something new; terrifying, and hauntingly beautiful.

He drew his lips away with the quietest wet moan. Anders searched his face in shock, looking confused. “That…” he said breathlessly. “That was…" There was a long pause, during which Anders smiled. "Unlike you,” he finished. Fenris could not respond. He didn’t know how. He simply sat back on his hands again, gazing down at the mage with a slight glare. It was a long minute of silence before Anders spoke again. He cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I… lie down? ... Face down?”

Fenris shrugged. “Go on, then.” He scooted over, making room as the mage stood - wincing - and came to lie down beside him, his arms folded in front of him and his head tilted to look up at the elf.

“You’ve seriously never done that before?” Anders asked quietly.

With no more screaming in the air, and their breathing returned to normal, the mansion was deafeningly quiet now. Fenris sighed. He'd hoped it wouldn't come up again. “Not exactly. I’d been ordered to beat other slaves at times. So, I knew what I was doing. In terms of… _sex_ …” He swallowed, and closed his eyes. “There were... other slaves. It... was not my choice, nor was it theirs, and I’d... rather not speak of it.”

Anders grimaced. “I see,” he said awkwardly. “I… I’m sorry, then.”

Fenris shrugged. There was a strange sinking feeling overtaking him now, and he could not pinpoint it.

“So…” Anders said slowly. “Do you mind if I…”

The warrior rolled his eyes, and didn’t let him finish. “Yes, stay the night. I don’t care.”

“Thanks. Seeing as I can barely walk anyway…” Both of them smirked as they caught one another’s eye, then looked away again hurriedly.

Suddenly, Fenris stood, and began to walk away. Anders let him go without protest, but he would not have needed to. Fenris returned less than three minutes later with a bucket of cold water, and a washcloth. He soaked the cloth, and while he held it under the glassy surface of the basin, Anders stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“Helping,” Fenris snapped.

The cold slap of water on Anders’ enflamed backside was unbelievable. He gasped, and the sound became something of a moan in mid-air. “Th- thank you,” he sighed.

Fenris shrugged, and sat back on the bed again. “I… should thank _you_ , as well, I suppose,” he rumbled.

“Well… do you feel better?”

He thought for a minute. Sighing, he lay down beside Anders and stared at the ceiling. “It… felt nice,” he said stiffly. “So… yes. A little.”

“You’ll always hate him,” Anders said gently. “I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”

“Obviously,” Fenris snapped irritably. “Idiot.”

Anders laughed heartily, making Fenris groan. “There’s the Fenris I know,” he said. “Though… I rather liked the Fenris I got to know this evening.”

“That Fenris beat you to a pulp, moron.”

“Exactly.” Anders winked. “But he also kissed me. Nice guy, that.”

The elf glared a little. Then his lips twitched as a thought occurred to him. "Leave the collar on," he ordered. He narrowed his eyes, curious as to how the abomination would react.

Anders pursed his lips, then finally smirked. "Alright," he said quietly. " _Master_." Fenris made a noise of irritation, and flopped onto his side, facing away from the mage. Looking at him was... confusing. Then he groaned as he realized the lamps were still lit.

Gesturing vaguely, he began, “The…” but suddenly they were plunged into darkness. He turned his head quickly to look at the blonde man in his bed, and hissed. “What did you do?”

“Put out your lamps,” he said casually. Fenris raised his eyebrows. “With magic.”

Fenris swore, and instinctively reached out to slap Anders’ face. The mage yelped, then dissolved into a fit of sniggering. “Don’t do it again,” the warrior warned in a deep growl.

But as he rolled over, he found himself smirking.

“Fine,” Anders giggled. “I won’t do magic here again. Except maybe that one spell again." Fenris tensed. "I said _maybe._ Another time, I mean. Maybe. If you wanted to. I mean, if..." He cringed at his own rambling. "Nevermind, I guess.”

Fenris couldn’t think. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and could not bring himself to answer. So he shrugged noncommittally, not knowing if Anders could even see it in the dark, and remained silent.

For a very long time, they lay there in silence together -  both pretending to be asleep, and both turning over the night's events in their minds. Neither Fenris nor Anders felt equipped to define what had just transgressed, and neither was certain they wanted to.

Anders fell asleep long after Fenris, kept awake by his screaming welts. He watched the elf's unconscious profile thoughtfully for a long time, still considering what had happened between them, until sweat began to bead on the warrior's brow. He watched as Fenris gritted his teeth, still sleeping. He looked in agony. He groaned, a tiny dry sob escaping him as he began to toss and turn, and Anders frowned mournfully at the sight, his chest weighted with sympathy. He had a feeling this was not uncommon.

He slipped a hand over Fenris' chest, and rested his palm over his heart. The lyrium markings were warm to the touch and his breathing was angry, but slowly, he calmed. A minute later, he'd fallen motionless again, his mouth slightly open. Anders sighed. "There y'go," he mumbled half-heartedly under his breath. "Sleep."

He let his tired eyes fall shut, and allowed his touch to rest where Fenris' pulse beat rhythmically against his fingertips.

Eventually, the mage drifted off too, unaware that it was the first night in years that Fenris had not woken himself screaming in the grip of his past and its lingering ghosts.

* * *

 

This chapter is now also available as a podfic, [HERE!](http://tindeck.com/listen/yefaa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be reminded that caning in general should never be performed between people who don't know what they're doing, or have not established clear limits. Also remember that caning on the shoulder blades is actually High Risk.


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